


Say When

by Daena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daena/pseuds/Daena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A songfic set in a diner and based off The Fray's Say When.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say When

Castiel swirled in a maelstrom of clouds and sheer power, and buried his blade in the angel’s chest. Light exploded around him, and the scream burned bright in his mind, grace scattering everywhere in a kaleidoscope of colour. And then he heard the voice deep in his chest, the whisper: _Cas_.

He curled in, dissolving the unknowable angel form and channelling his grace into a spiral, and shot down through the dimensions, into the body of Jimmy Novak. His host was nothing now, had vanished from the corporeal shell Castiel had been inhabiting for the better part of a year. The human shape was familiar and strange, but he would rather be in it now than his true form, since he would rather be on earth than slaying his brothers in Heaven. Because earth was Dean.

Dean Winchester was his weakness. A flawed, broken human had absolute power over Castiel, he who could take his memory back millions of years to remember that odd little fish struggling on the beach, the precursor to humanity. Dean could bend Castiel to his will just by giving him that beautiful, desperate look, and he knew it. Those clear green eyes held an eternity, that face could convey a thousand things at once, and it wasn’t just the physical that Castiel adored – he had been to Hell, fought his way through hellhounds and demons just to get to Dean, to grip him tight and raise him from perdition. Dean’s soul was the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen. It seared his fingers when he touched it, filling his mind with whispers, questions, answers, emotion. He had known nothing of emotion as an angel, but Dean’s soul had dug its tendrils into him and shared everything, and from that moment Castiel was aware that something had changed. Nothing was as simple as he had thought. His loyalties had been fractured.

The trenchcoat billowed around him as he sank into the body, and when he opened his eyes he saw with the peculiar limited sight of humans. He reached out to Dean’s mind, trailing his fingers across the lowest layers of his consciousness. It showed him a location, a small diner where Dean sat alone in a corner booth, and Castiel was there. He kept himself shrouded in invisibility, and slid into the booth across from Dean.

Blond hair was mussed, those eyes bloodshot, and there was a dark bruise blossoming on his cheekbone. He was nursing a cup of coffee between hands that Castiel could see had dried blood under their fingernails. His expressive face wore a myriad of emotions. He took a sip from the cup, looked across the table and directly into Castiel’s eyes, as though he somehow knew that he was there. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat, and then Dean’s head turned and he gazed out the window into the night.

Castiel hated to see Dean so vulnerable. This was a man who was used to sacrificing, who had been doing it as far back as he could remember, always doing things for others, for Sam, and never himself. Always protective, always guilty for his failings even though he had done more than anyone could – should – ever have asked of him. Dean deserved to be happy, and Castiel wished more than anything that he could somehow erase Dean’s memory, purge his soul of its accumulated darkness and take him away to somewhere where Castiel could see his mouth melt from that tight line into a smile. He seldom saw Dean smile, but he loved the sight. Love. Angels were not supposed to know love.

The diner was near empty, the waitress idly reading a magazine and playing some local radio station. Dean loved music. Castiel decided to try to listen to it, to see if it could speak to him the way it spoke to Dean. It was probably a silly thought, to imagine that a human could write a song that could move an angel.

_I see you there, don’t know where you come from/_

_Unaware of the stare from someone/_

_Don’t appear to care that I saw you, and I want you_

Castiel’s eyes widened, and unconsciously he gripped the edge of the table.

_What’s your name, ‘cause I have to know it/_

_You let me in, and begin to show it/_

_We’re terrified ‘cause we’re heading straight for it, might get it/_

_You’re the song playing on the background/_

_All along, but you’re turning up now/_

_And everyone is rising to meet you, to greet you_

Castiel sank back into the booth and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was ridiculous, really; angels didn’t need to breathe, but it was yet another one of those things he had picked up from Dean. Dean, who, across the table, was looking as though someone had punched him in the stomach. Flickers of emotion were darting across his features, and he gritted his teeth. Castiel dared to brush gently against his mind. His thoughts were an incoherent mess: _fuckfuckfuckmyheartowstupidsongCasCasCas_ –

_Turn around and you’re walking toward me/_

_I’m breaking down, and you’re breathing slowly/_

_Say the word and I will be your man, your man_

Castiel didn’t miss the tiny gasp that left Dean’s lips at that line. He leaned forward, hand halfway extended to touch him, to soothe the turmoil, but Dean sat back and covered his face, biting back a rough curse.

_Say when and my own two hands will comfort you tonight, tonight/_

_Say when and my own two arms will carry you tonight, tonight_

Truly, this song had been written for Castiel. Someone, somewhere, had tapped into the celestial wavelength, felt Castiel’s decidedly un-angelic overload of emotion, and penned these words as a result. He fixed his eyes on Dean, and slipped completely into his psyche, just for a moment.

The thought surrounded him, consumed him, an endless ragged litany: _whenwhenwhen_

Dean shuddered suddenly, and Castiel dropped the shield around him, becoming visible. He said nothing, not even breathing, lost in the song and in Dean’s thoughts and what that meant and if it really meant –

_We’re coming in, and then even closer/_

_We bring it in, but we go no further/_

_We’re separate, two ghosts in one mirror, no nearer_

“Cas.” It burst from Dean’s throat, sheer surprise. Castiel felt the undertone of guilt, like he had been caught doing something private. But Castiel could not play this charade any longer, could not pretend he had not felt that deep shaking longing inside of Dean.

“This song,” he said. “It speaks to me. It could be about me. Or you.”

Dean stared at him. “Dude, you’re not making any sense.” He gave a small, uneasy laugh. “You just randomly appear in a diner when this stuff on my ribs is supposed to hide me from feathery things and you’re talking about some stupid song?”

“You called me,” Castiel said. “I came. This song is not stupid. Say when, Dean.”

The green eyes widened, and somewhere deep in them Castiel could see fear and wonder and a thousand things competing for primacy. Dean searched for words and could not find them, and just as he opened his mouth – to say something completely irrelevant and humorous, Castiel knew – Castiel laid his hand over Dean’s and the jaw clicked shut.

“Listen, Dean,” Castiel said softly. “Just listen.”

_Say when and my own two hands will comfort you tonight, tonight/_

_Say when and my own two arms will carry you tonight, tonight_

And now Castiel put the other hand on Dean’s, and found a surfeit of courage and laced their fingers together. He looked into Dean’s eyes. “Say when.”

“Dude.” Dean’s voice was husky. He cleared his throat. “It’s just a song.” But he did not move his hands, and he seemed paralyzed by Castiel’s stare.

“It’s more than that. Because I want it to be more than that. You’re hurt. You’re scared. You deserve to be happy. You deserve the world, Dean. But I can’t give you the world. I can only comfort you.” He looked down at his hands. “I can only carry you. Just...say when.”

A strange expression crossed Dean’s face, and Castiel recognized it instantly. It was that look he got when he was thinking something and didn’t want to think it, when he tried to school his mind away from whatever was on it. And he knew that Dean would say no, would pull away and laugh awkwardly and say something inane.

But Dean Winchester was full of surprises, even to the angel that had once cradled his soul in his grasp. He leaned across the table, breaching Castiel’s personal space – another thing he’d picked up from the human – so utterly it was as though he’d launched himself into his lap, and softly, he said, “When.”

Castiel closed his eyes, and let himself feel that elusive happiness humans were so privileged to experience. A smile rose to his lips, and he looked out the window to the gleam of the Impala. “Where are you sleeping?”

“In a motel a couple miles from here.” Dean hesitated, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “Cas, you – you’ve got things to do, there’s a war in Heaven. You...you should go.”

Castiel shook his head. “Not tonight, Dean. Tonight, I am with you.”

Dean stared at him, wide-eyed, and then he gave a tiny smile. He tightened his fingers on the angel’s ever so slightly, nodded, and picked up his coffee. Castiel sat back in the booth, their hands still linked, and watched the tension ease from Dean’s body as he relaxed. Suddenly nothing seemed more important than this moment. Not Lucifer, not the war, not the end of the world or finding God. Dean needed him – _wanted_ him – and that was everything that mattered. Castiel curled his fingers around Dean’s, his grace almost purring at the contact, and smiled to himself. No longer were they two ghosts in one mirror.


End file.
